


speaking in tongues

by suijin



Series: one thing i know (time will never wait on us) [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Canon Compliant, Choking, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dom Choi San, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Hyung Kink, M/M, Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensory Deprivation, Sub Jung Wooyoung, THE TEMP PLAY WAS ACCIDENTAL......., Temperature Play, Top Choi San, either way its filthy hope u like it xoxo, now presenting....., this is just a pathetic excuse to write woosan taking advantage of woo's bandanas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suijin/pseuds/suijin
Summary: “Where are your bandanas?”“In the back," Wooyoung says, and then pauses. “Why?”"I'll let you decide what we're doing today," San says, turning to look at Wooyoung. "Would you rather be gagged or blindfolded?"Oh my God.Oh my fucking God.(Or alternatively, San finds another use for Wooyoung's bandanas. Wooyoung likes it a little too much.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: one thing i know (time will never wait on us) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029423
Comments: 43
Kudos: 398





	1. baptise in your thighs 'til it hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsandsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsun/gifts).



> a direct sequel to hands on me but can be read as a stand alone! dedicated to tian because she has my whole heart and her birthday is coming up... better buckle up for part 2 because its gonna blow your mind! 
> 
> hope you're all just as excited as i am for the next bit, but for now, enjoy the lil morning fuck <3
> 
> n without further ado...
> 
> enjoy ya nasties x
> 
> (title taken from church by chase atlantic)

It had been a slow morning.

Wooyoung had surprisingly been the first one up out of both of them, and he'd trudged to the kitchen, feet dragging against the floor in his sleepiness. He and San were expected to be at the studio later that afternoon, so everyone had let them sleep in. Hongjoong had left with a hissed _the house better be clean when we come back_ under his breath from when he'd woken Wooyoung up to let him know they were going to the agency. 

And yes, they'd finally told everyone they were together.

None of them weren't surprised, but both of them had asked to keep it on the down low for now, so only the members knew about them. And everything went back to how it used to be—with one startling difference, though. Now, Yeosang switches rooms with San and San sleeps in Wooyoung's room around three nights a week, but they still technically live in separate rooms.

Mornings were also the same, everyone silently eating breakfast together before getting ready to go to work.

Today, though, was a different story entirely.

Wooyoung had woken up alone, since San had slept in his room the night before. He had come out to make some breakfast for the both of them when San had joined him in the kitchen, tiredly draping himself over Wooyoung's back, arms around his waist while his head dropped into his neck.

It had been gentle for approximately three minutes before San, in his near-comatose state, realised they _finally_ had the house to themselves. 

And now here they are just half an hour later, Wooyoung bent over the kitchen counter while San's got his face buried in Wooyoung's ass.

“Fuck,” he moans loudly, and San humming against his skin is driving him up the wall. He's been teased for long enough that he feels like he could come untouched just like this, head hanging limply between his shoulders, entire weight balanced on his forearms, while San gives it to him wet and messy, flicking his tongue in slow, broad strokes. 

San has always been an attentive lover, but if Wooyoung was being entirely honest, San definitely did it because he was a bit of a dick. He liked doing Wooyoung right, but he liked ruining Wooyoung even more. That's why he's been ignoring Wooyoung's pleads for so long, even when he had his fingers curving inside earlier. 

And that's why he keeps going, dragging his tongue up and down slowly, suckling softly before sinking his nails into Wooyoung's hips.

He can barely keep his eyes open, vision going blurry around the edges when San licks up with one fat stripe only to slide his tongue inside with ease, loose because San had gotten him ready ages ago. The slight curl against his walls has him inhaling sharply, heat immediately pooling in his gut, hips bucking back until he was fucking back onto San's tongue.

“San, please,” Wooyoung babbles, and he would be ashamed at the way his hands go back to spread himself wide open for his boyfriend if San didn't hum appreciatively in response. "Please, San, _ahh—mmhn,_ come on, you've made me wait long enough— _please—_ ”

San doesn’t bother replying, only answering with a loud smack, keeping him pressed against his face with a bruising grip that Wooyoung knows will leave him aching, a burn so delicious against his skin he's almost ashamed he wants more.

And then San pulls away, and if it were any other day, Wooyoung would have complained about the loss of his orgasm. But he finds that he doesn't mind, not that much, because it meant San was _finally_ going to fuck him. 

His blood sings when he realises San was going to fuck him right there on the kitchen counter—the counter that everyone used every day. 

He was going to be bent over and get fucked within an inch of his life if the grip San had on his hip was any indication.

He turns his head to glance at San over his shoulder, and he shivers when he sees the slick on San's chin, the almost crazed look he had in his narrow eyes. And then his gaze drops down, and he has to bite back a groan when he sees that San's already tugged down his sweats just enough to get his dick out, jerking himself off with steady strokes, thumb swiping at the tip.

If Wooyoung wasn't so desperate to get fucked, he would have dropped to his knees then and there because San looks _good,_ cock in his hand, veiny and thick just how he likes it. And he's hungry, greedy for the way San rubs the head on his lips, but he's a lot greedier when it comes to San filling him up.

So he doesn't complain, and only pushes his ass back for San. 

When the two of them had started dating, San had always asked. Always needed to know if Wooyoung was alright, if he needed a minute to breathe, if he needed to use the safeword, but the last few months has given them enough time to talk about what they liked, their limits and what they wanted from each other. On the days that both of them wanted to try something new, or surprise each other, it was easier than expected. It might have been because as new as he had been to the scene, he and San trusted each other with their lives. Rarely did something go wrong, because of how in tune they were with each other, and when either of them had to end a scene, they always handled it well.

It had definitely given them enough time for San to find out that Wooyoung liked it when it hurt—liked taking only what San gave him, liked being pushed to his very limit, and really, _really_ liked it when San fucked him stupid. 

And that's why San doesn't bother telling Wooyoung before he's pushing inside. 

The sting that follows has Wooyoung's eyes rolling back almost immediately, and it's something they've both come to appreciate, San because Wooyoung's tight, and Wooyoung because it always made San go a little harder than he always plans. 

San's hips are pressed flush against Wooyoung's ass in mere seconds, not bothering with going slow. The second Wooyoung feels San's skin slide against his, hands pulling him back onto San's cock, he's already begging. “Please.”

His boyfriend's response comes in the form of his arm dragging up his hip, reaching up his stomach, chest until it lands on the back of his neck. And then San's fingers slide into his hair and yank him up, and the burn in his scalp hurts so good that he can't help the strangled moan that slips out.

“ _Please_ ," comes Wooyoung's slurred groan, and for someone who was always hellbent on reducing him to tears every time they fucked, San surprisingly listens. His fingers slide down, dragging against his cheek before his hand rests on Wooyoung's throat, and that has his hips stuttering. 

But as much as San had been rough in the beginning, he's painfully slow. If it were possible, Wooyoung could have left claw marks on the counter with how hard his nails were digging into the marble, trying to keep himself up for San like this, because San is rolling his hips slow enough that he can feel the way San's cock dragged inside.

Like this, Wooyoung's weight is held in the balance by the hand on his throat and the hand on his hip. The familiarity behind the pressure around his throat has him shaking, pretty little moans bursting out of him with every push of San's hips, a broken whimper of San's name and _please, touch me_ falling from his mouth, because San _still_ wouldn't fuck him properly. 

And he definitely doesn't seem like he would, if the grin that presses into Wooyoung's skin is any indication.

"What do you want?" San asks, voice lilting in amusement. The sharp snap of his hips sends a shudder down Wooyoung's spine, toes curling and hands scrambling to find purchase on the counter before he slipped and hit his head on the cupboard. 

“Fuck me,” Wooyoung whines. 

San laughs.

"You can do better than that, baby," San murmurs, words coming out a little breathy as he inches forward, pressing into Wooyoung until his chest is flush against the younger man's back. 

Wooyoung wants to ask, but the words are difficult to get out when he feels this full. San had barely touched him like he had wanted earlier but now that San was doing something as simple as filling him up, it was almost too much. He's so fucking close to coming already that it's embarrassing, completely ready to fall apart right there in the kitchen, a mess on the counter. 

San's hand twitches on Wooyoung's throat, almost as if to warn him that he would take it away if Wooyoung didn't behave, and Wooyoung immediately panics because he knows San would.

San would leave him high and dry right there for breaking the rules, he knows. Even if it meant San wouldn't get off, he would leave Wooyoung to suffer until he felt like Wooyoung had been punished thoroughly. 

And he doesn't want that. He wants San to take care of him. He always does.

That's the main reason why pleads start tumbling out of his mouth in mere seconds, high and messy just how San liked him. "Want you to make me come. Want you to fuck me till I cry, please. San, _San—_ "

"Yeah?" San teases, laugh audible in his voice. "How bad do you want it?"

" _Anything_ ," Wooyoung slurs, and he can't help but turn his head to look at San. The look on San's face is enough to have him trembling, and he doesn't have the brain capacity to care that he looks like a mess, lashes wet, a line of drool inching down his chin. "Please. I'll do anything, just—just touch me, _please_." 

San pauses for a second. 

Wooyoung's been with him long enough, and been around him for even longer, that he can almost hear the gears in San's head turning, coming up with what would undoubtedly be an idea that Wooyoung would come to regret. He opens his mouth to ask, but whatever question that was sitting on the tip of his tongue is pushed back in favour of an involuntary moan because San’s hand squeezes around his throat, his hips snapping up in sharp, quick jabs. 

His reaction is immediate, and he can’t even make proper sounds anymore, unable to speak because of the harsh grip around his neck and the absolutely brutal pace that San immediately sets, fingers digging into his hip hard enough he knows there will be half-moons amongst the blues and indigos San leaves on his skin.

“Anything?” San breathes. “Anything I want?”

Wooyoung can only nod, because the only sound that makes its way out of his mouth is a garbled _yes,_ unintelligible, slurred and messy but San knows.

"I'm holding you to that," San murmurs, and Wooyoung is far too gone at this point to take a minute to really think about what San just said. He always was one to give it to Wooyoung how Wooyoung liked it, but that wasn't to say he had an equal share in the amount of filthy ideas they've acted on.

San was always good, giving, maybe even perfect, but if there was one thing that Wooyoung knew about his boyfriend, it was that San liked knowing he could bring Wooyoung to actual tears.

And that's why Wooyoung couldn't put it together. Instead, he focuses on the way San's sliding in and out of him hard enough the counter is digging painfully into his stomach.

"Lift your leg up," San murmurs, and as soon as Wooyoung raises his leg up, San is letting go of his neck, gripping onto the back of his thigh and manhandling him up, forcing him to bend over the counter fully by pressing a palm down on his back, keeping him still.

Then he's lifting Wooyoung's leg up, up, _up_ until he had Wooyoung's knee on the counter, until he had Wooyoung's entire leg extended and placed along the edge of the marble, and the stretch has him absolutely reeling.

The hand on his back drags up, sliding along the ridges of his spine before they fist his hair and yanks up. This way, his back is pinned to San's chest again, but with the addition of his leg on the counter, it's difficult. Almost too much, but he knows San likes him like this, flexible, pliant and easy to move around how he wanted. 

And then San is absolutely railing him into the counter. San is gentle enough with his neck that there won't be bruises but he squeezes hard enough that it has Wooyooung wheezing for breath, air punched out of his lungs whenever San fucks into him. 

His eyes slip shut, unable to keep them open with how sensitive he was, salt slipping down his cheeks that San would usually lick. He can't help the strangled moan that fights it's way out of his mouth when he feels tears slipping all the way to where San's fingers met his skin, and it only makes San grip his throat harder than before.

The heat licking at his spine and the way his stomach was twisting into knots is enough for both of them to know Wooyoung was almost there, orgasm barely out of reach. San was the same, muffling groans into his nape whenever he clenches down on San.

He isn't even making sounds anymore, just taking whatever San was giving him, frantic in the way his hips slammed into Wooyoung, stuttering in his thrusts, close to coming himself. 

San's hand curls around his throat all the way, nearly cutting off his circulation, and that makes him tighten like a vice around San, making his boyfriend groan something that sounds like _good boy,_ and then Wooyoung's gone.

It slams into him like a truck, nothing like the slow waves that usually wash over him when San makes him come in the morning, orgasm ripping through his body, and the groan that San lets out into his neck is just downright filthy, his hips erratically slamming against Wooyoung's ass as he chased his own orgasm.

"'m close, baby," San grunts. "Where do you want it?"

The words come out of his mouth before he even thinks about it. "On my face—please, come on my face, I want it—"

"Fucking hell, Wooyoung," San chokes out.

Wooyoung's mouth opens in a silent moan when San pulls back, eyes rolling back when he feels the head catching into his rim obscenely. 

In seconds, San's off him and yanking him back by the hair and shoving him to his knees. The knocking of his bones against the floor don't even hurt because he is way too out of it to care, or think at all, and it seems San realises that because he immediately fists his cock.

Either way it doesn't matter, because as soon as San gets his hand on his dick, Wooyoung's hands go to his lap, obedient, waiting with his mouth open, tongue out and eyes turned up towards San.

It only takes a few strokes before San is coming all over his face.

He ends up having to close an eye as come drips from his eyebrow, but somehow San managed to get most of it around his mouth, on his tongue, a bit even making it down to his chin. He just sits there, mouth wide open and full of San's come, staring back at San until he reaches to swipe a finger across his lip.

Wooyoung opens his mouth just a little wider, and San's thumb pops into his mouth, resting on his tongue before he hollows his cheeks and sucks, to clean up the mess, and then there's San breathing out, "You're gonna fucking kill me, sweetheart."

Wooyoung giggles softly, letting San slip his thumb out and rub his lip. “That's nothing new."

San doesn't bother responding, just snorting instead, hand sliding against his cheek before his fingers go to card through Wooyoung's sweaty bangs once, twice, before helping him up off the floor, laughing quietly when Wooyoung's legs wobble and almost give out. 

He's quiet even by the time Wooyoung's finally gotten some feeling back in his legs and is no longer leaning heavily on the counter for support.

It's when Wooyoung finally gains enough energy to properly look at San that he notices San's frown as he looks over Wooyoung's skin, light bruises all along his throat. A frown worries itself between his eyebrows, and that's when Wooyoung decides to ask.

"You're gonna hurt your head if you keep using your one brain cell to think that hard, you know." 

San's eyes snap back to his face, almost as if he broke out of some sort of trance, and if it weren't for the sheepish grin that immediately starts playing at his lips, Wooyoung would be worried. "You're goddamn rude, Youngie."

"And you love it," Wooyoung returns smoothly, not wasting a second. "What's on your mind?"

San is quiet for a moment, a contemplative look on his face, before he finally says it. "Did you mean it?”

Wooyoung's eyebrows furrow. “Did I mean what?”

“You said you’d do anything.”

Wooyoung just sends him a look. "Yes, like I've said before. In bed. Multiple times. Why?"

A slow smile takes over San's face, wicked and dangerous, and Wooyoung hates that he has to squeeze his thighs together immediately just minutes after coming because just the mere sight of San looking at him like that turns him on.

“I want to try something.”

“And what's that?”

“Not telling," San says, and ducks when Wooyoung goes to smack him.

Huffing, he just rolls his eyes and turns to go to the bathroom. There was no point in trying to get it out of San, because if there was anyone more stubborn than himself, it was his boyfriend. Not to mention, way too fucking patient for his own good. 

"You better fucking tell me soon," Wooyoung calls out once he makes it into his room

And then there's San's teasing voice, faint, drifting from the kitchen, "All in due time, Wooyoung. All in due time."

  
  


They are in the middle of their last schedule of the day for some show when San walks over to Wooyoung.

They've been busy enough that Wooyoung had shoved his curiosity to the back of his head, because he has better—and more important—things to do than wonder just what San had planned for him. And if he is being completely honest, he hasn't spent a lot of time thinking about it either.

Almost forgotten. Barely present in the middle of memories of slurred groans and lips against his neck and a familiar hand around his throat. 

So yeah, he's not really concerned about it, which by default means he's chosen to ignore it.

Either way, San is practically in the same boat, if the way he's been obsessively practicing is any indication. They've all been so busy that Wooyoung is genuinely ready to drop, and he knows San feels the same.

He knows that because they haven't had the time to do anything except have a quickie because they were either pressed for time or just too exhausted to drag it out like they usually do. 

And right now, they were getting ready to start filming, stylists surrounding him and Yeosang who were the last members to get ready for the day. San stands beside him, leaning against the wall, phone in hand as he casually scrolls through whatever app he had open.

Probably Twitter, because he was Like That and enjoyed seeing fans losing their mind.

It's a few minutes into the stylist fixing Wooyoung's hair that San finally speaks.

"Do you still have your bandanas with you?" 

Wooyoung's eyebrows furrow. "Bandana? You mean for the THANXX stage?"

"Yeah," San says, and his tone is weirdly casual. Too relaxed. Calm enough that it should be concerning, but for some reason, Wooyoung doesn't notice. 

It takes a few seconds before Wooyoung remembers that he shoved those bandanas in the back of his closet as some sort of memoir, a way to remember what was their most successful comeback so far.

A way to remember just how far they had come in a mere two years.

"I took them home after the last show. Why? Did you wanna borrow them?" 

"Hmm," San replies, and he's still not looking at Wooyoung. 

That doesn't answer the question, and yet.

And yet, Wooyoung doesn't think twice about it.

He blames the exhaustion that tugged at his eyelids. Any other day he probably would have noticed the way San avoided the question, skittish and not lifting his head up from his phone at all. 

And that's why his brain supplies the answer for him a long thirty seconds later. 

_He must want to try wearing one after seeing the fans' reaction to me wearing it._

It's plausible enough that he immediately accepts it and moves on, wincing when the stylist yanks at his hair a little too hard. "Sure. They're in my closet. Want me to find 'em?"

"Nah, it's fine," San says, and Wooyoung sees him close Twitter. He's still staring at the screen, but his tone is light and there is a grin hooking up the corners of his mouth, and that makes Wooyoung forget the words sitting on his tongue. "I'll find them."

"Okay," he says, ignoring San's laugh when he yawns through the reply.

Fuck. He's tired.

And that's that.

In hindsight, he should have known that this was going to bite him in the ass. 

He really should have known.


	2. speaking in tongues (yeah, we ain't done yet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **DISCLAIMER:**  
>  \- this is completely safe, sane and consensual! unlike in hands on me, it is explicitly mentioned here that they do discuss plays before they try it out  
> \- the kinks are not negotiated extensively  
> \- woo pulls away/says no due to the overstim but they have a safeword set in place so the assumption is that he doesn't mean it
> 
> if any of these makes you uncomfortable, feel free to click away and not read! if not, then i sincerely hope you enjoy this horny mess hehe
> 
> happy early birthday to my actual soulmate tian this one is for you <3
> 
> n without further ago...
> 
> enjoy ya nasties x
> 
> (title taken from church by chase atlantic)
> 
> (03/03/2021; edited and bumped!)

It happens just two days later.

They’ve finally gotten a break, wrapping up with their year-end filmings for their upcoming reality shows, and it’s been wonderful so far. Yunho had been spending more time with Mingi in his room, which gave them more time to finally unwind and properly relax in the comfort of San’s bedroom. Sure, they had messed around the second they started their break, but that didn’t mean they had the chance to do what they had been wanting to do for ages.

Now here they are in Wooyoung’s room, hurriedly drying themselves off after their shower, sharing kisses in the middle of all of it. They had been promised to be left alone for the rest of the day, having dinner in bed together with a movie playing in the background, and Wooyoung could not have been more grateful for the fact that Yeosang and Jongho simply left the room without a single complaint, likely going to San’s bedroom to chill, because that had led to San blowing him and fingering him open in the shower.

“Wooyoung,” San starts, leaning back when he pushes forward, searching for San’s lips on his again. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Wooyoung says, just because he’s a little shit. And also because he can, since San was too whipped to get angry about it.

“Rude,” San says, but he sounds fond, hands squeezing Wooyoung’s waist. “Anyway. Remember how you said you’d let me do anything, and I said I wanted to try something out?”

“Last week?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“I think I want to try that now, actually.”

The words have his cock going from half-hard to full mast because that could only mean one thing: San was finally going to fuck him how he wanted. Wooyoung has been waiting long enough for this that it almost doesn’t feel real, because San had refused to go rough or play with him for just enough time that Wooyoung had been feeling impatient, stressed and in need of a filthy, dirty fuck to get him out of it.

And now, he was going to get it.

“Oh,” he says finally, breath stuttering around the words. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Get on the bed.” San just laughs, giving him a small pat on the ass before he steps away, walking towards Wooyoung’s closet, opening it and ruffling through the clothes that were neatly folded. 

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung asks before he climbs onto the bed, going to sit against the headboard, pillows under his back.

“Where are your bandanas?”

“In the back," Wooyoung says, and then pauses. Just because he knew San well enough to know that the man had clearly planned something didn’t mean he knew what that _something_ was. It could have been many things, but he really should have seen it coming. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. “Why?”

San takes a black bandana out. It's the one that Wooyoung wore for the THANXX teaser pictures.

The words that leave San’s lips have his entire mind coming to a screeching halt.

"I'll let you decide what we're doing today," San says, turning to look at Wooyoung. "Would you rather be gagged or blindfolded?"

Oh my God.

 _Oh my fucking God._

“Blindfold,” Wooyoung breathes out, "please." 

“Okay,” San murmurs. 

The heat between his thighs is unbearable now, especially after having to wait so fucking long already, and the way San is staring at him with those hungry eyes has him swallowing thickly, throat going dry in a matter of seconds. Fuck. He’s already starting to drip, and the wicked curl of San’s lips tell him that San has noticed as well.

And this—this is exactly what Wooyoung had wanted; San to absolutely ruin him in every way possible and he trembles at the thought that pops into his head then. “Sannie?”

"What is it?"

"Will you tie me up too?" 

San's eyes are wide, and he's looking on at Wooyoung in disbelief, incredulity seeping into his voice. “You want that?”

Wooyoung nods shakily. “Yeah.”

San's silent for just a moment, staring at him. Then he's huffing out a laugh, carding his fingers through his hair before shaking his head. "Of course you do."

Without wasting a second, San is tugging out a red bandana, one Wooyoung wore for a few performances during promotions, and is climbing onto the bed, slotting himself between Wooyoung’s legs.

“Arms up,” he says softly, and Wooyoung’s arms reach up immediately, wrists pressed against the headboard.

They've only done this a handful of times, probably because their schedule was just way too hectic for them to actually spend time on things that required patience and expertise. That didn't mean Wooyoung hadn't enjoyed it though, and San loved to gloat because he had made Wooyoung cry and beg in a matter of minutes the first time they tried it out.

San slips the red cloth around his wrists and secures it just tight enough that the material didn't dig in, and then he's looping it around the headboard and keeping Wooyoung still, arms above his head but with enough space for him to turn over if he wanted. 

A rough palm drags down his chest, squeezing his waist before sliding down to his thigh. They've done this before, yes, but it only got more intense the longer they kept at it. "Colour?"

Wooyoung shifts his knees, legs falling apart for the man sitting in front of him. His voice is hoarse when he replies, "Green."

He's already hard.

Fuck. Maybe it's because as much as they had done this in the past, they had never experimented with blindfolds before.

Wooyoung had never really thought of actually trying it out himself, having to shove down his laugh once he saw it on Fifty Shades of Grey, but now that San is going to blindfold him… he isn't entirely sure what to say.

All he knows is that he wants it.

The cotton slides against his skin, and San is surprisingly gentle about it, careful when he lifts Wooyoung’s head up to tie it together. It's not a shocker that San was careful, meticulous in the ways he took care of Wooyoung, brought him to tears and then put the pieces together with delicate fingers and _kintsugi_ —gold lining all the cracks that he leaves behind on Wooyoung’s skin in the form of blossoming reds and blues.

But he always had a tendency to push Wooyoung to his very limits, because Wooyoung is a brat at heart. That meant that rough sex was almost always on the table unless they were too tired from work.

And now, with the bandana wrapped around his eyes, San’s fingers brushing against his skin before gliding down his cheeks, his sight is well and truly gone. He’s never done this before, and he and San haven’t had the time to try out a lot of the things they’ve both been wanting to do. Sensory deprivation hadn’t even crossed his mind in the last few weeks, only being brought up when he and San were first starting out, but now that he’s here, at San’s mercy, he’s a little nervous.

Nervous because he wants this to go well. Nervous because he wants to be good for San.

It's not a question of whether San could take care of him like this, because he can. It's more so that Wooyoung’s loud—he’s got a loud personality and an even louder mouth to match, and now he has no idea what he’s looking at. He has no idea what's going on. He has absolutely no idea what San has in store for him, and that sends shivers down his spine, fists clenching, breath catching in his throat.

Wooyoung is lying on his back, head resting on the pillow, more than a little disoriented. With his sight gone, he can hear everything a lot clearer. Red immediately starts creeping up his neck when his ears catch the sound of his own breathing, heavy and short, obviously verging on panting. San’s fingers slide down his face, neck, before dragging down his stomach, landing on his hips.

“Ass up.”

When he lifts up, he can feel San push one of their pillows under his hips.

“Colour?” San asks, voice gentle.

And Wooyoung is a little shit, which is why the words come out before he even really thinks about the position that he’s in. “Still green, asshole.”

San’s reply comes in the form of his hands gliding down his thighs, landing on his knees, and he sharply inhales when he feels nails dig into his skin before his legs are forcibly spread wide to fit San between them. A murmur follows just seconds later, smile audible even in his voice, “You just can’t resist, can you?”

“You like it,” he says, and a breathy laugh slips past his teeth when he shifts just the slightest, feeling San’s cock pressing against his hip.

His weight is heavy like this, insistent but it burns Wooyoung’s skin just like every time those hands roam the wide expanse of his back, the dips of his waist to the caramel of his thighs. He has to bite down a moan when he feels San’s hips move against him, rolling in a filthy grind that has him absolutely reeling at the contact. Fuck, he’s already climbing high just having his sight taken from him. 

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.”

There is something so calm and neutral about San’s voice when he says that that has his toes curling, but it wouldn’t be Wooyoung if he didn’t enjoy giving back what San gave him by tenfold. He just rolls his eyes behind the makeshift blindfold, “Hey, not my fault you chose to blindfold me instead.”

“That’s because I’d rather hear you beg.”

Holy shit.

“And I might've chosen to blindfold you, sweetheart,” San continues, voice lilting in amusemen, “but that's because I'd rather hear how pretty you sound when you’re crying on my dick.” 

That has Wooyoung’s throat going dry in a matter of seconds, because _what the fuck._ He’s not stupid, he’s been around San long enough that he can read between the lines without having to try too hard, and he knows that what he’s hearing now is San telling him he's going to be choking on San's dick tonight and he wants it. They’ve only done it a couple of times, San not willing to risk leaving him with a sore throat because of their busy schedules and honestly, he gets it.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t want that. He wants it so fucking bad, wants to feel the weight of San on his tongue, the ache in his jaw that settles overnight when San pushes his head all the way down.

The shuddery exhale that leaves his mouth at the mere thought has San letting out a breathy laugh. Wooyoung can’t help but shiver at that, he doesn’t have to see to know that San’s got that goddamn smirk on his face that just spells trouble.

“Is that going to happen before or after you fuck me, though?” Wooyoung breathes out.

San laughs at that, and his breath stutters when he feels those large hands squeeze at his waist, pressing down onto the jut of his hip bones. “Depends on whether you behave.”

He just frowns. “That’s not fun.”

“Quite the opposite,” San murmurs. “This is _very_ fun for me.”

Jesus Christ.

San’s fingers trail up, down, up on his thigh before they ghost over his cock, already dripping. It's the barest touch, so fleeting that Wooyoung honestly would have missed it if he wasn’t already hyper-focused on the way San was over him like this. “You know the rules, sweetheart.”

“I couldn't care less about your rules, Sannie.”

“Don’t test me, Wooyoung.” One finger slides up, almost dipping into his belly button before it drags up his chest, ending at his chin. San leans in, and Wooyoung flushes when he feels San’s warm breath against his neck, lips just barely brushing against his skin. “Do you want me to remind you what they are?”

His breath hitches. “Yes.”

“You come when I say you can.”

A whimper slips out at that. “And?” 

Then San’s entire hand slides along the length of his neck before fitting under his jaw, resting. He’s not even squeezing, not exerting even the slightest bit of pressure, but the weight is heavy and familiar and Wooyoung hates that he’s already dripping, making a mess of himself, but even more than that, he hates that his thighs are going to be an entirely different story by the end of the night. “You have to ask.”

Fuck. 

He knows what San is like. He’s been with the man long enough and been around him for even longer that he knows San always gets his way. It doesn’t take a genius to hear what the man is actually saying. He’s going to make Wooyoung ask to be fucked. He’s going to make Wooyoung ask to be ruined. He’s going to make Wooyoung beg to come.

And knowing San, he'll probably say no.

Shit, he'll definitely say no. 

Oh my God.

There is San, familiar and warm, pressed between his legs with a hand on his neck, and then a second later—

It's gone.

San’s pulling away, and then he’s left alone. Not a single inch of his skin is touching San, and it doesn’t take any more than that to have his head clouding up immediately. He can still feel San’s weight from where the bed is dipping between his legs, but it's another thing entirely to know that San was going to force him to stay still, force him to stay without San touching him at all. It's not about the relief of being touched, and San knows. He’s always liked physical contact, and to have that taken from him even for a few moments has him reeling.

He just never expected he would _like_ it.

That he would like handing over the reins to San and letting himself be pushed to his very limits like this.

He was sensitive enough on a normal day, but with his sight gone, he was a complete mess.

The weight from in front of him shifts, and Wooyoung immediately knows that San is leaning to the right. 

There’s a sound, too muffled for his cloudy mind to comprehend, but it sounds vaguely like glass sliding against hardwood, like his desk. He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect this to happen, other than the fact that they have talked about it a few times and added it onto their list of things to try out, and maybe it was because San had given him no clue as to what he had planned for the night, but his mind comes to a screeching halt when he feels it.

A drop of ice-cold water that lands on his thigh.

Wooyoung immediately jerks in surprise, because _what the fuck._ He’s been hard long enough that just the slightest change of temperature against his skin has him holding his breath to keep his orgasm at bay. There is a fleeting thought in his mind that San had never taken his glass of water back to the kitchen, and that he had never finished drinking it. The ice cubes still hadn’t melted. Fuck. 

_Fuck._

He gets no warning before he feels San pin his legs down, spread apart wide enough that he can’t help the startled moan that crawls out of his throat, because there is an ice cube sliding along his knee before landing on his inner thigh, pressing hard. 

Melting ice drips along the dips of honey skin while San’s free hand slides along the length of his knee, moving all the way to his neck to grab his jaw, steadying him just as much as it prevents him from moving, forced to stay still and take whatever San planned on giving him. The cube against his thigh disappears for a second, and then there’s San’s fingertips brushing against his cock, wet and freezing from holding the ice.

The second his mouth drops open with a pitiful whine, San’s thumb brushes against his lips before slipping inside.

“Please,” he whimpers, and the muffled sound has San huffing a laugh, and that has apple red staining his cheeks because holy shit, this was humiliating. Not being able to see San was almost too much, because San has him exactly where he wants.

“Please what?” San asks, voice soft in that familiar gentle timbre. He sounds so fucking amused it has Wooyoung’s breath hitching. “I told you that you’re going to have to ask, didn’t I?”

“Touch me.”

San just hums. “Try harder.”

Wooyoung is already trembling, a complete mess under San’s nimble fingers dancing along the lines of his muscles and the thumb pressing down onto his tongue. He’s so embarrassed to find out that with his sight gone, he can hear the shuddered breaths that leave him, can even smell the heady scent that has filled the room. San has yet to touch him, and it already smells like sex, and his thighs would have squeezed together if it weren’t for San keeping them apart when he realises that San could smell it too.

That San could see him spread out on the bed like this.

“Please,” he says as San slips his thumb out, and his voice is shaking and—and fuck, he already sounds fucked out. “I want you to touch me. I want to come while you’re fucking me. Please? Will you make me feel good? I’ll make it good—I’ll make it good for you, please. Please.”

“Yeah?” San says, leaning forward to press a kiss against his collarbone. “You wanna make Sannie feel good?”

Another whimper. “Yes.”

“Wanna know what I want?”

A desperate whine. _“Please.”_

“I want to ruin you,” San murmurs, and Wooyoung’s eyes roll back when he feels San’s teeth graze against the skin above his collarbone, toes curling when the biting cold against him returns, San guiding another cube up his thigh and pressing right below his balls. “I want to see how pretty you’d look with my cock in your mouth. I want to make you cry, too.”

_“Sannie.”_

San carries on as if he never even heard Wooyoung. “I want to see how eager you are when you start begging for me to fuck you.”

He slides two fingers into Wooyoung’s mouth this time, and Wooyoung’s breath stutters around an obscene moan when he feels the ice melting, dripping against his overheated skin and down along his crack. His thighs are already beginning to shake, and he can almost hear San’s smile when a filthy groan climbs out of his throat at the feeling of San sliding the cube down, down, down until—

Until the ice cube was pressing right against his rim.

Fuck. 

“I want to see how long it takes for you to beg me to let you come.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. He was supposed to ask, wasn't he?

_Fuck._

Then San’s voice follows, teasing, “Aw, is it cold?”

He doesn’t bother with waiting for a response, taking the strangled groan that bursts out of Wooyoung as answer enough before he presses the ice cube again, circling it around the rim before holding it right against his hole. Wooyoung can barely think, his whine muffled by San’s fingers, way too overwhelmed by the multiple sensations of having his mouth filled, having his sight taken away and having ice glide along his skin.

Wooyoung almost bites down on San’s fingers in surprise when San presses the cube just a little bit harder, feeling his legs go a little slack because it was cold—and fuck, it was cold and biting and suddenly he’s filled with an urge to cry because he hates it, takes everything in him to not move away but he hates that he likes it just as much. 

He likes it and he’s already seconds from falling into subspace, and it seems San has noticed because he pulls his fingers out, smearing the wetness around Wooyoung’s mouth. “Colour?”

“Green,” Wooyoung says hoarsely, “you dick.”

San just laughs against the side of his neck. 

God, he’s so fucking embarrassed. 

It’s humiliating knowing that he can’t control the way his legs are shaking, arms getting yanked back by the cloth around his wrists, and it’s a million times worse when he realises that with the pillow under his hips, San can see the way his hole flutters at the contact, needy because he feels empty, wants to feel full. Maybe that’s why his body starts rocking back into the contact involuntarily, searching, seeking for something, _anything,_ ignoring San’s coo that follows.

“Look at you, Youngie,” San murmurs. “You’re dripping already, huh?”

Wooyoung can’t help the whimper that slips out at that, because he _knows._ He can feel it. 

There’s no mistaking the feeling of precome spilling from the head of his cock by the combination of ice against his rim, wet and messy, and the words that leave San's mouth. He nearly bites his tongue trying to keep his moans down when he feels San circle the remains of the ice around his hole, letting it melt all the way against his flushed skin before reaching for another once it is completely gone.

His wrists ached the more he shook under San’s hold like this, the cloth digging into his skin the harder he pulls at it. It’s not like he even means to, but there’s a part of his brain that’s telling him that it's because he’s always gotten so used to touching San, and now that he’s not… it changed everything. He loved being able to touch San, and it's difficult not being able to, but more than anything, he hates that he loves this anyway. He wasn’t going to mess it up for San.

Wooyoung is good. He’s always been good for San, and the cloth around his wrists and the one around his eyes made him want to be even better.

A pained moan slips out when San reaches over and presses a third cube against the rim. 

“Baby,” he hears San say. The gentle timbre of his voice has Wooyoung’s legs spreading almost immediately, back arching into the contact that his boyfriend was giving him. He can’t help but squirm whenever he feels San’s fingers brush against his hole, because it’s been ages since San had fingered him in the shower and he feels so fucking empty it’s unreal, can feel the way his hole clenches down on nothing because San was still teasing him, riling him up.

He can’t even properly reply, and a strangled groan comes out instead.

San pulls his fingers away, dragging his cold fingers against his trembling thigh when Wooyoung lets out a panicked moan at the loss of contact against his hole. He’s not sure what to think anymore, and he realises dimly, _oh,_ it’s finally here. Judging by the way San is keeping his hand on the smooth expanse of Wooyoung’s thigh, he’s noticed as well, that Wooyoung has _finally_ tipped over, finally in subspace just like he had wanted. “Youngie? You okay?”

Wooyoung wants to say something but he doesn’t even know what, all he knows is that San isn’t touching him there anymore and it _hurts_. The second he opens his mouth again to reply, only a pained whine slips out.

“What’s your colour?” San asks, gentle. His mouth is next to Wooyoung’s hip, he knows, because he can feel the warm breath against his skin. The faint buzzing in his ears dies down when he hears San ask him, and he nearly panics because he knows it’ll stop if he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want it to stop. He’s not ready for it to stop just yet, he wants more, he wants everything that San could give him.

That might be the only reason Wooyoung even manages to respond, slurring, _“Green.”_

And then San pulls away from him entirely.

It doesn’t even matter if Wooyoung whines at that, because San will ignore him. His boyfriend is still sitting between his legs, just not touching anymore. The warmth radiating from San’s body is bleeding into his skin, overheated and flushed, and the sound of the sheets rustling under their weight is grating on his ears. He doesn’t know when his eyes slipped shut beneath the soft cotton, but they’re squeezed so fucking tight that he’s seeing colours, fleeting, drifting across ink black.

San’s hand brushes against his thigh, and then his eyes roll back once he feels two slick fingers prod against his hole before sliding all the way in with ease. 

And then San _crooks,_ fingers curving against just where he needed it, and an embarrassingly loud sob punches it's way out of his throat when it registers that it's wet, cold to the bone, chilling against the heat of his walls. He’s going to come, and it's because San has been at this for ages while barely touching his cock and it hurts—its painful in the best of ways, and he knows San knows that because he tightens up so fucking fast that the man lets out a low whistle, amused.

“Are you close?”

Wooyoung can only manage a jerky nod.

“Do you want to come, sweetheart?” San asks, voice rough. A ragged moan leaves his mouth then, and fuck, he’s almost there, just barely out of reach if the abrupt churning in his gut was an indication.

 _“Please,”_ he slurs, word almost verging on a sob, oversensitive from being edged like this for so long. His entire body would have locked up if it weren’t for the fact that San’s got him sinking into the bed, floating on the words pressed against his neck and the thick fingers that are twisting inside him.

Then San’s free hand reaches over, wet and messy and ice-cold, dragging over the head of Wooyoung’s cock once, twice, and he can vaguely feel a tear sliding down his cheek when San curves his fingers against his spot again. It's freezing against him, _inside_ him, and Wooyoung can’t help the obscene moan that slips out, legs flying out, nearly thrashing at the feeling. San’s hold on his legs tightens, forcing them down and keeping them in place, but Wooyoung’s back arches so much it hurts and it’s too much.

"You can come," San murmurs.

He’s so out of it that just as soon as he feels those fingertips press down hard on the slit, he’s coming. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna—I can’t— _Sannie_ —”

Wooyoung sobs, eyes rolling back into his head, and he can feel the way his limbs lock, body thrashing under San’s grip, arms flying out only to get yanked by the cloth that was digging into his wrists hard enough it hurt _,_ hips bucking erratically at the feeling of finally being granted the release he’s been wanting for so long. The contrast between the warmth of San’s body against his own, overheated and flushed, and the freezing tips of San’s fingers has him coming so hard he’s shaking by the time San removes his hands.

He collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving for air, loose and boneless.

Then San pulls away again, pushing Wooyoung’s legs down and going to lie him back down comfortably. It wouldn’t have been more than three seconds before he feels San climb on top of him, straddling his upper chest, thighs pressed against his sides.

“What’s your safeword?”

“Red,” Wooyoung breathes.

“And if you can’t talk?”

His mind is foggy enough that he’s surprised he actually remembers, considering they don’t get to do this often. “I’ll knock on the headboard.”

“Good boy,” San murmurs.

There is a hand winding its way through his hair, gentle in the way those fingers brush the sweat away, but then San fists his hair and pulls him forward. Just one simple tug, and Wooyoung starts shaking again because he can feel the head of San’s cock pressing against his lips, dragging. And then there’s San’s gruff voice coming from above him, “Open up.”

It takes less than a second before his mouth drops open.

It’s humiliating just how eager he is, San not even needing to coax him before he’s sliding in, a quiet hiss escaping his lips at the feeling of Wooyoung’s mouth around him, warm and wet, because he’s been waiting even longer than Wooyoung had. The groan that rattles San’s chest when Wooyoung’s tongue peeks out, lapping at the thick vein on the underside of his cock, before moving back to flick against the slit, has his cheeks burning in delicious shame.

“Shit, you take me so well,” San sighed, gentle fingers threading through his hair, and Wooyoung can’t help the whine that slips out at that, the sound more than a little muffled. “God, I could fuck your mouth all day.”

He gives the head one more slow lick before parting his lips again, suckling on it obediently. A throaty groan follows, loud and filthy above him. He wants to see San so fucking bad, wants to see the way he can make San fall apart with just his mouth, because he’s seen it before. Even with his sight taken away like this, he knows how San would look right about now, cheeks flushed, mouth open with half-lidded eyes hungrily looking down at him. He knows he gives good head.

It’s not even a question.

The embarrassment that comes with the belated realisation that the harder he sucked, the more drool ran down his chin, messy and wet, is surprisingly easy to ignore when San’s fingers tighten in his hair as a warning to get on with it. Too bad for him that Wooyoung loves to tease.

Too bad for him that Wooyoung was still a brat.

When he pulls back again, head dropping, it smacks against his lips. San doesn’t even pull away, content with letting Wooyoung have his fun like this. The thought has his blood singing, because this is how San is; he will always let Wooyoung play around to his heart’s content, only to return it by tenfold. Maybe even by a hundred. Either way, he has the marks and the ache to prove it by the time it's over. 

For now, he is more than happy to press kisses along the thick length, occasionally flicking his tongue against the vein, across the head, suckling on it slowly and languidly, taking his sweet time to enjoy the weight on his tongue, the taste that lingers. It’s sloppy, because Wooyoung doesn’t have the slightest clue what he’s looking at, but the way San’s breathing changes the more precome and spit are smeared all over his chin says enough. San always liked him like this, a complete mess under him. Maybe not all messes were bad, he thinks, inhaling through his nose before pushing down all the way, letting San feel the way his throat constricts around him before pulling back with an obscene sound.

San’s hand tightens once more before letting go, gently brushing the stray hairs back. It’s humiliating having to lean in to take San into his mouth again simply because he has no idea what’s in front of him. He has to search, and it seems San doesn’t care about helping him, because the head bumps into his lips again, and the breathy laugh that comes from above him when his mouth parts obscenely, tongue darting out, has shame swirling in his gut. 

And then he feels fingers pressing against his hole.

He can’t help the whine that slips out at that, two digits sliding back inside so easy that he’s almost embarrassed. God, he feels so fucking empty like this. The blindfold is soft against his skin, tight yet comfortable, and the feeling of San twisting his fingers inside makes him feel even worse. He wants to be filled up, he needs something thick. 

He needs _San._

Maybe that’s why San doesn’t bother giving him a warning before pushing in all the way, fisting Wooyoung’s hair hard enough pain bloomed across his scalp while his mouth tried to fit the thick length going inside. He chokes on it before he remembers how to inhale through his nose again, and then he sinks down deliberately, eyes rolling because of the combination of San’s fingers crooking inside him and the feeling of the head hitting the back of his throat. 

God, he needs San so fucking bad.

Wooyoung pulls off with a gasp, head dropping back onto the pillow with a filthy whine when he feels San pressing just the right spot, not letting up even for a second. He can’t stop himself from spreading his legs, forced to feel the way his rim stretches around every fucking knuckle, taking every fucking inch just how San wanted him to, and he is left reeling with the realisation that he likes it best like this—he likes it when San makes him take it.

He likes it when San makes him take it however he wants, which is why he doesn’t have a single complaint when San’s fingers fist his hair again before sliding his cock back inside all the way in one go.

“Fuck. it’s like your mouth was fucking made for this, sweetheart,” San groans, his palm dragging over the base of Wooyoung’s cock before his fingers curl again inside, fingertips sliding along the spot that had him babbling in mere seconds. “Do you wanna make Sannie come? Want Sannie to come in your mouth?”

Wooyoung whines, the sound trembling in his throat, hollowing his cheeks hard and sucking around San’s cock the next time San moves to pull back a little. The result is an increase in pace—San’s hips are jerking, rolling frantically in near painful pushes, and Wooyoung can’t help but drag it out even though his throat feels like it's on fire, lips burning, letting his teeth slide just enough it had San’s thrusts growing erratic, losing his rhythm, a filthy groan rattling his lungs.

The hand in Wooyoung’s hair has tightened so much there are tears springing in his eyes—he can taste the salt sliding down his cheeks, mouth, and he can taste San too, forced to feel the way his throat opens up for his boyfriend, the jerk of his hips erratic the closer he’s getting, nose pressed against San’s abdomen with how San was using his mouth to get off like this. It’s absolutely disgusting, the way he can only moan in response, but this is what he wanted.

San’s hand leaves his hair only to slap against his cheek. It echoes, despite being a light smack, and it has Wooyoung’s whimpering this time. The garbled sound that punches it's way out of his throat when San’s thumb brushes against the bulge in his cheek is even worse, a mix of a strangled sob and a pained groan.

Then San’s cursing under his breath, “Fuck. Fuck, baby. Not yet.”

He pulls Wooyoung off, holding him back by the jaw when Wooyoung tries taking it back inside his mouth, a confused sob that sounds awfully small slipping past his lips. Wooyoung can hear the heavy breathing in the room, his chest heaving the more he tries to keep his crying down, but then San’s weight leaves his chest. Instead, the bed sinks under him as the man moves away, slotting himself between Wooyoung’s legs once again. 

Wooyoung’s fists clench the second he feels San’s cock press against his inner thigh. It’s slick and messy just how they like it, and he can’t help but push his hips back to get San inside. The angle is entirely off for him, but there’s a low moan that climbs out of his throat when he feels San inch closer, pushing his cock between Wooyoung’s cheeks and drag it up and down. His eyes roll back when he feels the tip press against his rim, shuddering violently. There’s a fleeting thought in his mind that San _still_ isn’t fucking him, and it's unfair—it’s so fucking unfair that San has him like this.

His cock slips up and down, wet and smooth, and Wooyoung’s breath halts when he realises why San’s teasing him.

He’s supposed to ask.

Wooyoung’s still supposed to ask for what he wants, or else he’s not going to get it.

The words come too easy, too slurred.

“Fuck me,” Wooyoung breathes. 

“Ask nicely,” San murmurs, and Wooyoung’s thighs are shaking from where they’re pressed against San’s hips. 

_“Hyung,”_ he whimpers, and San stills for just a split second, knowing that if Wooyoung wasn’t in subspace before, he definitely is now. Ever since the first time they fucked, they rarely ever did this—Wooyoung didn’t call San that much, and if he did, then it was of his own volition. San had been clear when he told Wooyoung later that he never had to call San if he didn’t want to, and Wooyoung had agreed, saying it was likely he’d end up calling San if he was far too gone. 

There is a lull filling the space before one of San’s hands go to squeeze Wooyoung’s waist. The sound he makes is high-pitched and breathy enough that if he were more coherent, he would have laughed at the way he felt San’s cock growing harder against him. “Please fuck me. Want you to fuck me—please, Wooyoungie wants it, please—”

 _“Fuck,”_ San hisses, grip tightening.

His hips jerk, more insistent in the way he eases into a filthy grind, steady and hard. Wooyoung’s breath hitches when the shove has him pushed up, legs falling apart all the way once he feels San’s cock rubbing against his rim in a way that’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy. He knows San feels the same way because he can hear the quiet groan above him once he feels Wooyoung’s hole clenching down on nothing in anticipation.

“Hyungie,” he gasps, and that’s all it takes for San to push inside.

A loud groan, throaty and raw, echoes in the room when Wooyoung realises that he can feel the slow drag of it—with his vision taken from him like this, he can feel the way his hole stretches to fit San inside, can feel every fucking inch sliding in one by one, loves that he can feel just how full he is because he can feel it reaching deeper inside. His limbs seem to have melted, way too out of it to even think about the feeling of San’s sharp hip bones meeting his skin, just the thought of San finally filling him up remaining in his mind.

His body is trembling with relief once he hears the smack of San’s hips against his over the faint buzzing in his ears.

“Fuck,” San’s groan is harsh when he bottoms out, sliding back in even rougher than he was being the entire night, the sound of skin smacking against skin echoing in Wooyoung’s ears. “ _Fuck,_ Wooyoung.”

Hearing his name falling from his boyfriend’s lips has heat licking against his skin, warmth starting from his cheeks and ending with tingles in his fingers that are yanking at the cloth holding him still, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He feels full. God, he feels so fucking full now that San’s giving him what he wants. He’s overwhelmed by the weight between his legs and the drag inside him but he’s way too busy hyper-focusing on the way San is finally inside him to care.

This is what he loves.

He loves everything about taking it. Loves the way he feels when he’s forced to feel the way he opens up for San sliding inside him, loves the way he feels full, loves the way that he can’t even think when it gets too good and most importantly, he loves the way he can’t even talk right and can’t do anything but take it like a dumb slut. San would never call him that, but it’s the thought that has him reeling, because he _likes_ it—he loves being filled up with San’s come, loves the feeling of it dripping out.

God, he really is San’s perfect little boy.

“I wish you could see yourself,” San says, and the fact that his voice is shaking, breathless, is the only reason Wooyoung can even tell that this is affecting him just as much. He almost wants to ask San to take off the blindfold so he can see; he wants to see the way San’s body looks between his legs, looming over him with his hair matted to his forehead, eyes fluttering shut with pink staining his cheeks. But this is even better—San’s fucking him hard, just like he asked. 

San is fucking him hard enough that he feels small. It’s been ages since he’s gotten fucked out of his own headspace like this, and judging by the groan that follows just seconds, San is losing his mind because he can see just how messy Wooyoung is, wet cheeks and drool running down his chin. Fuck, he probably looks like a mess. “You look so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

He can’t help the moan that slips out at that. _“Hyung.”_

And then he feels San’s fingers thread through his hair again, gentle for a split second before yanking his head back hard enough it ached. It hurt so fucking good, and it doesn’t even matter if he had a blindfold covering his eyes because he can’t even keep his eyes open now anyway, nearly thrashing once San shifts just right to have his cock sliding inside in a burn so delicious it had him crying before it hits his prostate. “Fuck, hyung—hyungie, ‘s good, right there—please—”

“You were just made for this, huh?” San drawls. The tremble in his voice is barely noticeable now, but that might be because Wooyoung’s getting fucked silly and he can’t even think. Either way, he sounds casual, way too fucking normal that he can already feel himself inching towards the edge. “What do you think, Youngie? Are you?”

“Please,” he sobs, and then San’s letting go of his hair only to find itself fitting under his jaw, fingers digging into his skin as he squeezes.

“Were you made to take it? Wanna sit on it all day?”

Another jerk of San’s hips and he cries out, “Sannie—”

“Bet you’d love it if I had you keep my dick warm.”

Oh my fucking God.

Wooyoung’s really going to come if San keeps this up. He can’t even help the way he keeps clenching around San because he can’t even control himself, a strangled groan bursting out of him when San’s grip around his throat tightens again. It's humiliating being forced to feel it like this—he can feel the way his body locks up, tense and tight, thrashing under San, precome dripping down his length, leaving his thighs wet and messy.

It’s even worse knowing that San can tell he’s going to come just by the way his stomach tenses, the way his legs go to close, wrapping around San’s waist, because San suddenly stops, hips stilling, one hand keeping Wooyoung’s ass pressed against him while the grip on his throat loosens, palm simply resting. 

_“No,”_ Wooyoung sobs, frustrated and overwhelmed with having his orgasm taken from him just seconds before he burst. It doesn’t even matter if he can feel San twitch inside him at the feeling of Wooyoung’s hole clenching down again, because San doesn’t bother moving. “No, please—so close, please—don’t stop—”

“Not yet,” San says easily, voice almost in a hum. It’s almost as if Wooyoung isn’t actually crying underneath him, a complete mess of tears and spit.

“No,” he whimpers. “Hyung said he would let me come if I asked so why—”

“Are you crying?” San asks, and he sounds so fucking delighted that Wooyoung can’t help but cry even harder. The words that follow are a million times worse. “Aw, baby, did hyung make you cry? Do you hate me?”

Holy shit.

Wooyoung can’t even reply, can only sob pathetically in response, shaking his head violently. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying no to. He doesn’t know whether he’s saying no to the question or no because San isn’t fucking him anymore but that’s the thing—he just wants San to fuck him. He needs San to take care of him, because he thinks he’s genuinely going to lose it if San doesn’t.

"Beg," San murmurs. 

"Hyung," Wooyoung pants, and if San wasn’t holding him by the neck then his head would be lolling right about now. He can’t even feel his legs, can’t feel a single fucking thing other than the fact that he’s empty and he needs it right now.

“Beg,” San repeats. “Beg hyung to let you come, and maybe he will.”

It’s embarrassing how fast the words start falling out of his mouth in a near babble. “Please, hyungie, wanna come. I wanna—please, Wooyoungie wants it—wanna come on hyung’s cock—need it, please—”

It seems that’s enough for San to slide back inside.

He gives it to Wooyoung hard, hard enough it pushes Wooyoung up on the bed, hard enough that his nails dig into his palm until he knows there will be red half-moons left behind for him to stare at by the end of the night. A shriek climbs out of his throat when San’s free hand smacks against his thigh, absolutely railing him into the bed, and the sound is so embarrassing, high and needy and he feels overwhelmed by it, almost as if he was wrapped up in a fever dream.

Wooyoung likes it best when San fucks him through his orgasm, likes it when San fucks it out of him and doesn’t stop even when he’s crying no, no, it hurts, please. He likes it when San uses him to get off, but he likes getting fucked stupid even better. Maybe that’s why he just takes it, mouth barely having the energy to make sounds anymore because he’s just lying there and taking it, groaning every now and then. 

He can feel his mind going hazy and there's drool on his chin and—and yeah, he’s almost there, just barely out of reach.

There are knots in his stomach and his thighs are trembling and his gut is churning and he just knows that yeah, he’s going to come just like this, just for the man in between his legs. No one else. San’s hand squeezes again, and this time it's enough to nearly cut off his circulation, and _fuck._ Fuck, San’s fucking him hard enough that it almost feels like he’s making a place for himself inside Wooyoung, deep enough it hurt and good enough that Wooyoung would be ruined for anyone else.

Like no one could ever give it to Wooyoung like this.

Then he feels San’s free hand slide along the length of his thigh, fingers barely brushing until he feels the first drop of ice-cold water against his cock. And then he feels San hold another cube against the top of the head, cool for a second before it becomes freezing because San presses it into the slit. _Hard._

That’s when it hits him—San has already made sure this would happen.

San already _has_ ruined Wooyoung. 

Maybe that’s why he comes. He comes so hard that it hurts, can’t even help the way he thrashes, arms flying out only to get yanked back painfully by the clotch. He can’t even help the way he keeps shaking long after he’s done coming, a mess all over his stomach, some even somehow managing to make it to his chin, and he keeps quivering even when San slows down to just a steady grind of his hips before pulling out, hands moving to slide against his thighs, waist in a touch so soothing that Wooyoung… cries.

Beneath the blindfold, he can feel the wet material dragging against his eyes. Fuck. He cried, and he’s still crying, sniffling while quiet little sobs burst out of him, slumping back on the pillow cushioning his head. He can vaguely feel San moving him but he can’t think, San really _did_ fuck him stupid. Barely conscious, Wooyoung can’t even feel San against him properly, his chest heaving for air, too weak by the orgasm to think beyond anything but the fact that—

By the fact that he is entirely San’s.

For a second, San’s fingers are gentle against him. They are still, almost too still, simply resting along the curve of his hips, comforting in the way those thumbs stroke against the skin right above the jut of his hip bones. But then he’s snapping out of it, because San doesn’t bother giving him a single warning before shoving his cock back inside, ignoring the startled— _pained_ —groan that leaves his mouth.

“Hyung, wait,” Wooyoung gasps, and if his hands were free, he’s pretty sure they’d be on San’s chest, trying to push him away, because it _stings._ “Hyung, wait, it hurts—”

San has him flat on the bed, and it doesn’t even matter if his legs are free because San’s fingers are digging into his hips hard enough that he’s kept down, pinned to the bed despite the violent shake of his thighs. His legs are still wrapped around San’s waist, maybe for easy access, but it doesn’t matter—it just doesn’t fucking matter because San is still railing him into the bed even when he can barely take it, oversensitive and sore and a complete mess.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” comes San’s voice in his ear, oddly gentle in comparison to how hard he was fucking Wooyoung, a stark contrast to the way his hips slammed against Wooyoung’s, rough and fast and messy and just perfect. “Be good for hyung, hm?”

“No,” he moans, and he’s horrified when he realises that just the feeling of San splitting him open like this, being forced to go on even after he came for a second time is only making him drip again. He’s already hard, and he can’t stop the stammer that barely comes out of his mouth, head slumped, drooping like he was some type of doll—which he supposes he is, considering San is definitely fucking him like one. “No, wait, I can’t—”

“Come on, Wooyoung,” San says, teeth gritted. “Don't be selfish. Hyung's not done yet.”

Wooyoung is not proud of his reaction at all once those words register, a strangled whine climbing out of his throat. 

They’re walking the fine line between pleasure and pain and Wooyoung is floating. He has barely any feeling left in his body, body slumped into the pillow, forced to keep taking what San is giving him. Or rather forced to give San everything he had because he won’t stop fucking taking and it’s good and it hurts and it's perfect. “It’s too much, I can’t—fuck—I can’t, I can’t, _I can’t, please—”_

He can feel San shift between his legs, and then he’s leaning over and kissing Wooyoung. It’s wet and sloppy, so messy that Wooyoung’s dizzy, thinks he’s crying and drooling and can’t do anything about it. This way, Wooyoung’s pressed down all the way onto the bed, San’s weight heavy and insistent on top of him. His cock’s pressing and rubbing against the hard planes of San’s torso, and shit, he’s going to come again.

Then comes San’s voice, breathless, “Hyung’s gonna fill you up, okay?”

Wooyoung’s entire body seizes as he comes _again,_ a choked off groan turning into a sob. 

He can faintly hear San letting out a startled _holy shit,_ and it only makes him cry harder because it hurts so bad, he can’t even come properly anymore, cock barely dribbling any come by the time he’s done, and he clenches down on San so tight that it has San coming, too, rhythm completely lost as he chases his own orgasm.

And the last thing he remembers is the feeling of San filling him up before he completely blacks out.

Wooyoung doesn’t know how long it's been by the time he’s rousing awake, because the blindfold is still tied, knot somehow still managing to stay together. With the cloth over his eyes, he can’t see anything, but he can definitely feel that he’s been moved. He’s now draped over San who is resting against the headboard, seated on his lap, and the cloth around his wrists gone, head dropped into the crook of San’s neck while San has an arm around his waist. One slight shift tells him that San’s still inside him—his cock and his come still stay inside, not leaking at all.

This isn’t something they often get the time to do, purely because they’re always running around due to their busy schedules, too swamped with work to drag things out and take their time to enjoy all the things they liked. This isn’t something they do often, but it's definitely something they love, because Wooyoung feels so fucking full like this, pushed to the edge as he floats, drifts away into nothingness as San presses tender kisses all along his jaw, his neck, his heart, making him feel small like he wants.

Taking care of Wooyoung just like San wants.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been lying like that. It could have been minutes, or even an hour or two, but he has no clue because he still can’t see. Not that it made a difference, because he could barely open his eyes anyway, lashes wet.

San’s hand brushes against his side, fingers trailing from his waist, sliding along the length of his rib cage before dragging back down to rest on his hip, palm heavy and warm. Wooyoung can’t help the way his entire body jolts once the weight registers in his head, much too oversensitive to take any more for the night. Maybe for the rest of the week. Fuck, he’s exhausted.

The deep ache is satisfying, and San’s touch is even nicer, but _fuck,_ he’s exhausted.

He must have made a sound upon waking up because San’s hand stills for just a second before it reaches up again, untying the knot and removing it carefully. Wooyoung can’t move even as the cloth falls, presumably landing next to them on the bed. For some reason, his eyes are still wet. For some reason, he’s still coming back down, as content as he is, and for some reason, the tears still slide down his cheeks agonisingly slow.

San makes an alarmed sound before his hand comes up to wipe away the stray tears that keep falling. “Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung swallows thickly, heart warming at San’s voice because he sounds so concerned, so fucking gentle that it almost feels like whiplash thinking about how San treats him in bed. The contrast has him reeling, but he finds that he likes this San the most—the one that loves him softly like this. “Yeah?”

A violent red creeps up his neck when he hears just how hoarse he sounds.

He feels San drop his head closer, and shivers when he feels San place a kiss against his cheek, tender and loving. His voice is soft in Wooyoung’s ear, “Can you open your eyes for me? Please?”

Slowly, his eyes flutter open. 

His boyfriend had the sense to only keep one light on, which is the only reason why he doesn’t immediately close his eyes once again, squinting at the sudden influx of light that fills up the room. It’s slightly disorienting, finally getting his vision back, but he’s more than grateful because when he peeks up, San is staring down at him with a look so fond that his heart aches just by the sight.

“Hey,” he murmurs, putting away the phone he’d been holding in his other hand to shift Wooyoung into a more comfortable position. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face into San’s neck. Judging by the way San shudders against him, he knows San can feel the tears against his skin. 

It’s quiet for a few seconds until San speaks again, voice barely louder than a whisper. “What’s your colour, baby?”

“Green,” Wooyoung breathes out. “It was just—it was just really good. Thank you, Sannie.”

San just hums, sounding more than a little pleased as he raises a hand, fingers lazily playing with the hair at the nape of Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung almost hates that he likes that he can almost hear the smile in San’s voice just by the little sound.

“How long was I out?”

“You slipped under for a bit, but it's only been about twenty minutes,” San says, his smooth voice oddly gentle as he cards his fingers through the mess that was Wooyoung’s hair.

Wooyoung is way too fucked out to come up with a reply, so he only makes a sound in response, pressing his nose against San’s neck, eyes slipping shut. He’s so out of it that the mess and the drying come surprisingly don’t even bother him. A quiet laugh comes from next to him, and he has to fight down the smile that immediately starts to tug at the corners of his mouth because San was just so—just so fucking perfect. San’s hand slides back down, arms curling around Wooyoung’s waist properly before pressing an apologetic kiss against his hair again. “Go to sleep. I’ll clean us up in a while, okay?”

The only thing Wooyoung can manage to say—or slur, really, because there’s no strength in his jaw to talk, “Love you.”

San just laughs again, pressing in impossibly close. Then he hears San’s voice, horribly warm in his ear. “Idiot.”

And with that, he’s more than happy to fall back asleep, because he’s known San long enough to know what he means. _I love you too,_ clear as day, gentle and soothing against his skin. Wooyoung can hear him just fine, which is why he completely relaxes, feeling the way San’s lips spell out the million love letters San had written all over his body, left tattoos of his adoration in the form of hushed laughter and tender words pressed against skin and blooming sanguines and indigos on the wide expanse of caramel laid over San’s pale alabaster.

Yeah, he thinks. This is it.

This is always going to be it for him.

And if he has no complaints about it, no one needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> i never post but find me on twt: @s_uijin


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